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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197786">don't rock the boat, dear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/poika/pseuds/poika'>poika</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Established Relationship, Introspection, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:01:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/poika/pseuds/poika</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>five times andrew and neil used pet names ironically (until they didn’t)</p><p>alternatively, five times andrew and neil navigated the future and one time they knew exactly where they were going.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>All for the Game Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don't rock the boat, dear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this fic is based off of my own hc and this art that is also mine twitter.com/pkaprv/status/1236845764015316992?s=20</p><p>i am by no means a fic writer but for andreil i will certainly try</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time Neil and Andrew had fallen into the habit of it, the thought hadn't crossed their minds that maybe it <em> was </em> a little romantic to call each other things like <em> dear </em> or <em> darling.</em></p><p> </p><p>In fact, they hadn’t noticed at all that somewhere along the way they had gone from an unspoken nothing to a very big something.</p><p> </p><p>At first, things like this were new to them. Most things were new to them, actually. Nevermind affection, the simple things like sincerity, companionship or kindness were just a choice few amongst an exhaustive list of basic human qualities that neither Neil nor Andrew boasted in their repertoire. Things that had been unfamiliar at best and an outright threat every other time now seemed to be a permanent fixture in Neil's rapidly developing life. Coming to terms with it stretching out ahead of him had been difficult and finding a delicate balance that didn't tip both he and Andrew into conflict took months of adjustments and growing pains on both ends. Neil would spend days wracking his brain wondering where he fit, where Andrew fit and how exactly they would continue to fit together in the future. But for all the times when he would run himself in circles with worry, there were the times where Andrew would reel him back in and remind him that while nothing was stagnant, they were a unit and when they grew, they grew together.</p><p> </p><p>It’s funny, Neil thinks, that two people so broken could piece together something so steadfast. Not only did they work for their<em> something </em>, but they succeeded. They’d carved out their own version of tenderness and it wasn’t always pretty but it was exactly what they wanted it to be.</p><p> </p><p>Looking back on it, Neil recounts their growth in small steps. Just being in each other’s company was a hurdle early on - Andrew would say <em> I don’t want to see your face right now </em> or Neil would say <em> I need to go for a run </em> and they would retreat into themselves.They didn’t do it for lack of caring, but sometimes just sitting beside each other brought up thoughts or feelings or memories too gnarled up to untangle so easily. It had gotten better, though. <em> Yes or no </em> turned into <em> yes until it’s no </em> and they learned that touch could just be simple and pleasant. That Neil could run his hand through Andrew’s hair and it was nothing but a familiar and welcome touch, that sometimes they fell asleep curled into each other and woke the same way, safe even where nightmares threatened to send them spiralling back. Talking was harder, because it was one thing to huddle up on the couch together but it was something else entirely to let somebody into that small and vulnerable cavity that they kept well preserved deep inside their chests. Honesty had never been on Neil’s side. But Andrew was, so they had grit their teeth and made it work.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>And the progress had been so incremental, shifting just a degree one day at a time, so slowly that Neil had failed to notice just how far they had strayed from those two lost boys smoking on rooftops and making promises.</p><p> </p><p>Neil had originally come to the conclusion that they were nothing like any couple he’d ever met, but now he’s made a revision: they’re not that far off.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
1.</p><p><br/>
The first time it happens, they’re spending the weekend in Columbia. The cupboard is freshly stocked, windows opened to air the house out and they’ve settled on the back porch with whiskey and a cigarette between them. </p><p> </p><p>‘If you consider their playing styles, Jack and Smith should be able to mesh well together but executing any sort of working scrimmage between the two of them is impossible.’ Neil stares off into middle distance and the hand holding his three fingers of whiskey is so limp with distraction that it threatens to spill all over the steps. The topic of exy has become increasingly more frequent since the semester began and sometimes it’s all Neil can do to discuss anything else of interest. The new team is a wreck and things were most definitely not panning out the way he had expected them to when he was riding high on the idea of their promising recruits. The <em> idea </em> being the issue in point - in reality, they were terrible and Neil hates them most days. To say it hadn’t grated on both he and Andrew wouldn’t be true at all: co-captaining a team of divisive freshmen irritated Neil to his wits end and having Neil tear his hair out over it in every free moment had even Andrew gritting his teeth. ‘They can’t work together for more than five minutes! The second I leave them alone, they’re at eachothers throats but if they would just focus on the game they’d be an amazing asset to us. We’d <em> win</em>. I don’t know how to make them see that when they’re so hellbent on throwing out their commonsense to fight like animals.’’</p><p> </p><p>He glances to Andrew and it sparks his temper to find him taking an annoyingly leisurely drag of his cigarette as he picks at loose threads on his jeans. His disinterest is clear. ‘Can you at least listen to me?’</p><p> </p><p>Andrew exhales in a cloud of smoke, ‘Yes,<em> dear</em>.’</p><p><br/>
Before Neil can react, he continues, ‘The way I see it, they’re as good as animals - you have to entice them into a reward and they’ll eventually get along out of pure association. Separate them before they can fight and overwork them every other time. Once they realise they can start winning games, they’ll want to work together more and fight less. It’s basic biology and those dumbasses are even simpler than most living mammals so I can’t imagine they’re that hard to train.’ Andrew’s answer, as questionable as it is, is actually an answer and Neil would be proud that he’d obviously been thinking about it enough to offer a helpful solution, except he’s gone and called Neil <em> dear</em>. They don’t do that - pet names. The word itself sounds foreign on his razor-sharp tongue, like spitting out brimstone and moulding it into a wonky heart shape.</p><p> </p><p>Andrew just sits there and continues to smoke as if he didn’t just participate in a discussion about exy and also call Neil <em> dear </em> at the same time. It’s a double whammy that Neil doesn’t have the constitution to deal with right now. His drink splashes onto his sock and burns a blister on his toe.</p><p> </p><p>Neil has to down the rest of it before he can respond normally. ‘I guess you’re right. Why waste my breath when I can just spray them with water, right?’</p><p> </p><p>Andrew scoffs.</p><p> </p><p>Later, when they’re watching TV, Neil perches his feet on Andrew’s lap and asks, ‘Hand me the remote would you, darling?’ and delights in the way Andrew chokes on his coffee.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
2.<br/>
<br/>
Neil is terrible at scrabble, but he isn’t about to let Andrew know that.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a miserable drizzly Saturday afternoon and with nothing better to do than sit around, Neil and Andrew are playing scrabble. Nicky and Aaron are in the living room amusing themselves with video game marathons, so lounging around watching TV was no longer an option. Andrew sits in the kitchen with his legs drawn up onto the barstool and Neil faces him from the other side of the bench, hunched over the board like it has answers.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Za </em> is definitely a word, it has always been a word and I’ll sooner die before I let you tell me otherwise. <em> Za </em> is a word.’ <em> Za </em> isn’t really a word but he hopes if he lies hard enough, Andrew will pity him and concede the point.</p><p><br/>
‘Not according to the Merriam-Webster it isn’t.’<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Andrew’s eidetic memory is an unfair advantage when it comes to most games and it pairs terribly with Neil’s competitiveness for anything that’s even remotely competitive. Neil hates to lose and while he’s a passionate advocate for playing fair, he has a special hatred for scrabble and he’s not afraid to abandon his moral code for it. So with pity off the table, Neil resorts to violence. ‘I’m going to throw your tiny little body out the window and then you’ll finally lose at scrabble because you’ll be dead.'</p><p> </p><p>Andrew’s eyebrows raise. ‘I’d like to see you try, dear.’<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Neil huffs and grumbles in retaliation because Andrew only ever calls him <em> dear </em> when he wants Neil to choke up and say something stupid - and because he likes seeing him blush. Andrew just lifts his eyebrows higher and he’s not smiling, but he is infuriatingly close to it. Neil tries not to blush harder.</p><p> </p><p>He’s about to make good on the promise of a swift defenestration, but they’re interrupted by Robin shouldering her way through the door with her hands chock-full of takeout bags.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>‘Guys! Where are your phones? I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes...I expected this from you, Neil, but Andrew…’</p><p> </p><p>‘We’re playing scrabble,’ he says in lieu of an explanation. </p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m </em> playing scrabble, Andrew is abusing me.’ He doesn’t mention the window thing.</p><p> </p><p>‘Quit squabbling over scrabble and come eat, I got Burger King!’ Andrew and Neil narrow their eyes at each other but temporarily admit defeat in favour of following Robin to the living room. </p><p> </p><p>She’d passed her driving test recently and in finally becoming a fully fledged and functioning member of society, she’d celebrated by visiting the drive-thru almost constantly. They were all sick to death of it, but nobody said anything - not when she’d been terrified of her own shadow when they’d first met her (and not when they were threatened at knifepoint to be supportive). She’d come a long way and if they had to eat takeout every second night for a while then so be it.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, yummy! Burger King again!’ Nicky exclaims when she throws the bags down onto the floor in front of him. If you looked closely, you could see the light fade from his eyes as she passed him extra large onion rings.</p><p> </p><p>‘Now everyone say thank you, Robin,’ Andrew deadpans to the group, digging into his whopper as if he hadn’t been plagued with daily stomach aches for a week himself.</p><p> </p><p>‘Fuck off,’ Aaron whinges but joins in eating, too.</p><p> </p><p>‘Thanks, Robin,’ Neil says, ‘If I had to play another second of scrabble I was gonna lose my mind.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, that’s no problem, I know how worked up you get. Your ears are still a little red!’ </p><p> </p><p>Andrew is looking at Neil now, staring overtly at the flush in his cheeks that he knows is entirely his fault. Neil throws a fry at him<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
3.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Pushed onto the couch cushions, Neil is effectively trapped when Andrew slides into his lap.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes or no?’</p><p> </p><p>He’d barely had time to drop his suitcase by Andrew’s front door before he’d been manhandled the few steps from the threshold to the living room. He sinks further into the couch and hums in consent as arms snake around his neck and a pair of lips press urgently against his own. Andrew’s nails play maddeningly with the hair at the nape of Neil’s neck and his strong thighs keep him plastered right where he wants him as he swiftly reduces him to a livewire. </p><p> </p><p>The sudden onset of kisses and touches threatens to overwhelm Neil, since he hadn’t even seen Andrew in close to three months before this. They’d talked over the phone occasionally, texted most days, but contact beyond that was as limited as you’d expect for two busy people who lived a thousand miles away. Just the smell of him when Neil had gotten into his car at the airport had set a weird and warm weight deep in his gut that he didn’t know how to address. He had missed Andrew, but he hadn’t quite realised just how deeply he'd missed him until he was right there again - sitting beside him smelling exactly the same as he’d always smelled. Like cigarettes and his expensive shaving cream and whatever else made him smell like home to Neil. To have him so close now is a barrage of sensation and unexpected emotion.</p><p> </p><p>‘I really missed you, you know,’ he murmurs when they break apart for air. They’re both breathing hard and Andrew’s bangs are sticking up on one side in a shameless display. They’re longer than Neil remembers and the reminder that they haven’t seen each other in months prods at that weight in his gut again. ‘Your hair’s grown…’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yours is shorter. Did someone cut it for you?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Robin helped me. I haven’t even seen your house. You own a real couch and I didn’t even know about it.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m familiarising you with it right now, aren’t I?’</p><p> </p><p>To a degree, it does feel familiar, but the longer he sits here the more it begins to feel increasingly unfamiliar too. Neil is struggling to process the fact that he’s no longer a part of Andrew’s daily life and he doesn’t particularly want to come to this realization when they’ve only just reunited and are making out on the couch, but it’s hard to ignore when Andrew’s new life literally surrounds him. ‘I guess I’ve just been struggling a little. It’s hard at home not having you around.’</p><p> </p><p>Andrew pinches Neil’s neck, ‘It’s not like it’s been a breeze for me, either.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m sick of this apartment. There’s no roof and I have to smoke on the shitty balcony outside, the walls are thin, my neighbours are loud and I keep getting parking fines. I try to call you but like usual your phone’s dead or you’re passed out because you waste your time with those stupid stickball fanatics all day. My team doesn’t like me and I don’t like them and when I get home the only thing I really do is wait for you to text me.’</p><p> </p><p>The confession shocks Neil into silence. Although he delivers it with an impassive look on his face, he’s not sure Andrew has ever come close to an admission as honest as this. Neil had missed Andrew like a limb these last few months, but hadn’t for a second considered that it was every bit as mutual, that Andrew had spent all this time reaching out and trying to find his own place in a life that was no longer his either. Andrew’s loneliness and Neil’s own selfish obliviousness makes his heart clench hard enough that his chest rises and falls between them, pronounced in the stillness. He grips Andrew’s shirt tighter in his fist, pulling him closer.</p><p> </p><p>‘I promise that from now on I won’t let my phone leave my sight; if you need me or if you’re lonely -’ Andrew huffs in protest, ‘- I want to be there. I don’t want you to think that I’ll just forget about our plans now that you’re a little further away. We’re working our asses off for our futures but I guess we could use some work on making <em> now </em> run smoothly too. So, I swear on my life and give you permission to throw me off a building if I don’t pick up the phone.’</p><p> </p><p>The shadow of a smirk lifts the corner of Andrew's mouth just so. ‘Shut your mouth and come here already.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Anything you want, darling,’ Neil breathes against his lips. He’d meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but the endearment comes out heady and warm into the air between them. It comes out earnestly. Thankfully, Andrew lets it slide and continues his endeavour to rob Neil of any further thoughts of loneliness.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>landed safely back home. ill call after practice. miss you</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> dont forget this time dear </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> my fifth floor balcony is looking particularly tempting today </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> miss you too </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> x<br/>
<br/>
</em>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
4.</p><p> </p><p>‘Next week is our last game together,’ Neil begins, ‘and it’ll be my last game as your captain, so it’s really important that we do this right. We’ve come a long way from where we started and I want to see you guys work together like a proper team long after I’m gone. Our teamwork today was good, yeah, but it could be better. Backliners, you can’t forget to communicate with your goalie, strikers with each other and -’</p><p> </p><p>Neil’s ringtone cuts him off. He knows instantly that it’s Andrew by the way the opening riff off <em> Runaway Train </em> rings out from his pocket. And since he’d made a promise to always pick up the phone when he could (and Andrew rarely, if ever, called him during practice) he steps out of their group huddle and grabs his phone.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’ll be back in a second, take over for me Robin?’</p><p> </p><p>Robin has already got the team engaged by the time he answers, and Neil’s certain he can take a moment and she’ll have picked up right where he left off. She was good at that now.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey,’ Neil answers.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Hey. So the delivery van arrived</em>.’ Andrew’s greeting is as blasé as always, but after four years together Neil could read every intonation of his voice with perfect fluency - and he immediately feels dread. A few months ago, he had gone into agreements to sign with the New York Rangers, made the plans to relocate after graduation and that had been that. Since his own season had already ended, Andrew had offered to secure him an apartment and keep it warm until Neil’s arrival. It had been going well until this phone call.</p><p> </p><p>‘...And.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em> And I know that you do in fact own more than 2 boxes these days, so someone fucked up. </em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘Fuck,’ Neil swears, ‘are you sure? Did they check the van or whatever?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Yep, no luck. They’re certain that the rest is either at the depot, in another van or still in South Carolina. Maybe. </em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘That doesn’t sound very certain to me.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I don’t make the rules, dear. Anyway, they gave me a referral number that you can look at online or something. I’d do it myself, but I’m in your apartment with two boxes and literally nothing else so that’s not going to happen any time soon</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>Neil swears again, frustrated. This is the last thing he wants to be dealing with right now, not with graduation and his final game looming so close. He barely has enough time as it is. ‘Man, this is so annoying. I’ll get another hotel room for you for tonight while I sort this out.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Don’t bother, I’m heading over there now anyway. You at practice? </em>’ Andrew asks.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, just finishing up now. I’ll call the company when I get back then I’ll call you, alright?’<br/>
<br/>
</p><p><em> ‘Do that, because if you don’t, </em> ’ Andrew warns. ‘<em>I</em><em> may just get lost in this big city and the next time you see me I’ll have forgotten all about you and become a Broadway star. </em>’</p><p> </p><p>Neil huffs out a laugh and he feels a little better knowing that Andrew is trying to cheer him up. ‘I’d love to see that sometime. See you later then, darling.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Yeah, yeah. You too. </em>’</p><p> </p><p>Neil hangs up and turns back to the team, ready to dole out his finishing comments for the debrief so he can go home and threaten some couriers, but everyone is staring at him. </p><p> </p><p>‘What.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Was that Andrew on the phone?’ Robin asks. She’s giving Neil that look that says <em> I’ve got your number, </em>the look that makes him feel like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The fact that the entire room is still watching him exacerbates the feeling tenfold. </p><p> </p><p>‘Yes, why?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, nothing. Just that you’re gross and called him <em> darling</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>Neil stops short. ‘That’s - it was a joke! Who the hell gave you permission to listen to my phone calls!’ he glares daggers at the team, but noogies Robin’s head out of sheer favouritism. She’d been Neil and Andrew’s roommate for long enough to walk in on something or the other, especially considering they’d shared a bed for the better part of a year to make room for her. So having her overhear phone conversations wasn’t new or weird, but the teams scrutinising eyes on him was more than enough to make him fidget. The Foxes had always struggled to understand their relationship, but neither Neil nor Andrew had ever been interested in inspiring change for the sake of their privacy. For all Neil cared, they could think whatever they liked as long as they kept him out of it. </p><p> </p><p>‘You guys are so mushy, I can’t wait till you’re out of my sight in New York holidaying together being gross.’ Sometimes Neil thinks he misses the old Robin until he remembers that she’s much funnier like this.</p><p> </p><p>‘Mushy is a weird way to describe psychopathic,’ Jack remarks.</p><p> </p><p>‘I only ever saw them hold hands like <em> once</em>,’ someone else pipes in, and a few more chatter in agreement. Neil doesn’t know why they’re having this discussion.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m your captain now and what I say is gospel, didn’t you know? I should give you all laps for questioning me!’ Robin gripes back and her chest is so puffed up that Neil can’t help but laugh at the absurdity, and how proud he is of her.</p><p><br/>
‘Okay, hold your horses. I’m still captain for five more days and I’m going to exercise my right to stop this conversation immediately and get back to the most important thing here: our game next week,’ everyone groans, ‘but for the record, I am not mushy, have never been mushy and will never be mushy.’</p><p> </p><p>Robin throws her arms around him and laughing into his jacket, she mumbles, ‘Whatever you say, captain mushypants.’<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
5.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>When Neil returns home one evening, he finds Andrew stationed in the kitchen meticulously washing vegetables. That’s something they do now, vegetables. After all, college couldn't last forever and they eventually came to learn that neither did their digestive systems. So now they do vegetables.</p><p> </p><p>Andrew is scrubbing at potatoes, his sleeves pushed high up to his elbows and his face is so focused that you’d think he hadn’t heard Neil arrive at all. He had, but had elected to ignore him in favour of picking off stray sprouts. It generally wouldn’t cross his mind twice, but tonight Neil feels a newfound appreciation for the simple show of trust that had long become normalcy: that when he walks through the door every night, Andrew knows it’s him and feels safe, safe enough to scrub and pick at potatoes as he pleases. It’s nice, the reminder.</p><p> </p><p>After a quick greeting, Neil ducks through the kitchen and into the bathroom for a shower. He’d already cleaned off after practice that evening, but the brisk walk from the car to their apartment floor in Chicago’s midwinter climate had set a miserable chill right through his clothes. So he indulges and spends just a handful of minutes regaining feeling in his feet and lathering himself up in their current soap of choice (a zesty blend they’d bought at a market that smells infinitely better than the standard issue at the stadium). Once he’s dry and dressed, he pads out to the kitchen again.</p><p> </p><p>‘Anything I can help with?’ he asks. He leans on the counter behind Andrew and watches him chop carrots. To no surprise, he’s good at it and always has been, deft and quick and efficient with nice hands that Neil could watch for hours. A college diet was wasted on him, all soft ice creams and takeout noodles and cafeteria food that offered little nutrition and even less interest (not that they’d cared at the time). Now, twenty-three, decked out with demanding dietitians and worse training plans, they’d probably drop dead without a proper meal every now and then. Over time, they’d actually come to enjoy it; meal prep wasn’t really something Neil would have ever considered titillating until he’d seen Andrew gut a bell pepper.</p><p> </p><p>‘Make yourself useful and grab a pot for me. The one in the cupboard.’ This particular request is one that always makes Neil smile, tonight too. Andrew can’t quite reach the top cupboard in their apartment kitchen and he still hasn’t admitted that he hates it. They keep a stepstool nearby for his convenience, begrudging as it is, and Andrew rarely uses it. Neil is just tall enough to smack things down from the top shelf so the job is smoothly delegated to him most nights. </p><p> </p><p>Andrew can no doubt hear the amusement when Neil asks, ‘This one?’ because he doesn’t even look in his direction before he replies in the affirmative. He says, ‘Yes, dear,’ and chops away.</p><p> </p><p>As Andrew fires up the stove, Neil sidles up beside him. ‘What are we making, darling?’<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
‘<em>I’m </em> making soup. You’re making coffee. Dear.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Alright, coming right up, no need to bust my chops.’ The words are affectionate and he punctuates them by leaning down and resting his head on Andrew’s shoulder. He’s warm underneath his sweater, right where Neil’s cheek is.</p><p> </p><p>‘“Bust your chops.” What a wonderful hubby you are,’ Andrew deadpans back but lifts his free arm up to card through Neil’s hair anyway. Neil hums and shifts closer, close enough to press his nose against the delicate strip of skin between Andrew’s sweater and his jaw. They stay like that for a moment until Andrew prods Neil’s cheek with the butt of his wooden spoon in a silent demand to get started. </p><p> </p><p>‘Who taught you that anyway?’ he asks into the pot, a little frown on his face as he tastes the soup. Neil heaves himself up and gets the coffee machine going.</p><p> </p><p>‘Sitcoms,’ he replies absently as he sets the mugs down. ‘We stayed up watching <em> Cheers </em> reruns the other night, remember? Well, I stayed up and you passed out at eight.’</p><p> </p><p>‘What the fuck, you know I need my beauty sleep, asshole.’ The half-hearted insult brings another smile to Neil’s face - just a minute ago he was calling him <em> dear</em>. </p><p> </p><p>‘You don’t need any,’ - Neil places the steaming cup on the bench by Andrew’s hand and plants a kiss onto his head, right where his hair whorls at the top - ’you’re beautiful as you are, sleep deprivation and all.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You disgust me, go get the bowls.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Of course, darling.’<br/>
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+1<br/>
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</p><p>Neil wakes to the sun rising beyond the open curtains. </p><p> </p><p>The first thing he sees is Andrew, illuminated and peaceful across from him, and while the room will soon turn warm as the sun continues to rise, for now he’s bathed in a light so cool he barely looks real. His hand rests against the sheets and he mustn't have moved all night because it had been right there when Neil fell asleep, loosely held in his own. It’s curled in the gentlest of fists, such a delicate thing even where calluses and scars mottle the surface of his skin.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not often he gets to stare so unashamedly at Andrew without being told off for it, so he takes a moment; stares at the fan of his eyelashes and the smoothness of his skin, the tiny little moles that sit by his eye and his mouth and just by the curve of his jaw. Though he barely moves in his sleep, his hair is always miraculously mussed into a bird’s nest every single morning and this morning’s no exception either - it’s a mess. Neil loves it more than most things.</p><p> </p><p>He loves everything about their mornings. Heavy-eyed greetings, feeding the cats, the smell of coffee, their hair competing for biggest sty, even the times when Andrew ignores all of those things, burrows back under the covers and makes Neil do it. It had taken years of bad wake-up calls to get to this and so every day it goes well settles the feeling further inside his chest. Even in sleep, he knows he’s safe now and that Andrew will be there, safe beside him. He wants to keep having this for as long as he’s allowed.  </p><p> </p><p>So he stares and stares. At his nose and his mouth and the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Neil’s eyes trace the contours of his face and as if he felt it like a touch, Andrew begins to stir.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes blink open soon after and Neil gives him a moment to get his bearings before he can no longer help himself from pressing a kiss to his forehead. Andrew makes a discontented sleepy noise in response and buries himself further into the pillow.</p><p> </p><p>‘Morning, sunshine,’ Neil murmurs and runs his fingers through Andrew’s hair. His fingers get caught almost immediately and he’s rewarded for his wasted efforts when Andrew grabs his hand and tucks it under his chin.</p><p> </p><p>‘No morning, no sunshine, go back to sleep.’ As he says this, a ray of light finally peeks through their apartment window and lands directly in a beam onto Andrew’s face. Neil has the privilege of watching him react to it: with extreme disgust, resignation and a dramatically long groan into the pillow.</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t think you have a say,’ Neil laughs, but Andrew’s already tugging Neil's hand up so that it’s slapped directly on top of his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>‘I think, dear, that I do. I’ve got a perfectly suitable blindfold right here with me.’ </p><p> </p><p>‘Is that what I am to you? A human cloth?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Of course, why else would I keep you around?’</p><p> </p><p>Neil laughs again and moves to cover Andrew bodily. ‘You’re the worst, that’s why.’ He ignores the grumbles of protest and wraps him up close to his chest, hooking his chin over the top of his head. He can feel his own heart beating, right where Andrew’s cheek comes to rest by it.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’ll grab a coffee for you. What do you say, darling?’</p><p> </p><p>‘No coffee yet.’ Andrew hesitates, breathes in. ‘Just. Stay here for a while.’</p><p> </p><p>Neil hums and he thinks it’s okay to stay in bed just a little longer. He’s got time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i really tried to capture andrew and neil’s dynamic as best as my brain let me - they love their back and forth bickering and i think that even though they are soft for each other, their teasing and insults are just an extension of that. theyre comfortable!</p><p>i also think robin is a huge puzzle piece in terms of their growth and a story about them evolving wouldnt be right without her in it. i want to explore her dynamic with them so much more, this fic could have easily just been about her lmao (i tried not to make it too obvious)</p><p>ps ‘za’ ends up being recognized in the merriam-webster dictionary some years later and neil gets to be smug for a while about it</p><p>feel free to hit me up on twitter im always willing to chat</p></blockquote></div></div>
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